


Insidious

by lemoninagin



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Dark, Hate Sex, Heartbreak, Izuo - Freeform, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-16 05:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4613535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemoninagin/pseuds/lemoninagin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya has many things that give him great joy in life, but there is nothing that he savors more than defiling a bleeding heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insidious

_Izaya likes to pry open hearts._

He enjoys peeling back the epidermis covering the surface of his target, slow and smooth, careful and purposeful in every movement as his victim squirms in his invasive grasp. Soaking in the way the blood spurts out and covers his hands and face, warm and inviting, Izaya likes it when they only beg him to let out more of the vital liquid. A cursory inspection is given to the expansion and contraction of the muscle walls as they bare themselves to him from under sturdy and glinting white marrow, and his mind runs wild with all the ways in which he can bend and push to try and get the bone to give.

He's happy when he finally gets that opening to tear and poke and prod until the rib cage enveloping the fragile muscle collapses, exposed beneath his hands as he pulls the open chest wider apart. Izaya likes seeing emotions trickle out and fade away, the wax and wane of love and devotion slowly morphing into self-hatred and inner turmoil. He sticks a finger in every time there's a rip or tear, as if he's an expert at open-heart surgery and can staunch such a grievous wound, suturing up and gluing back together sinew that's just going to fall apart repeatedly. It doesn't matter either way to him - he takes great pleasure, too, in running his nails affectionately along the piles of scar tissue afterwards like macabre spoils of war, building harder and caking on strength with every painful gouge.

It's only thrilling in the sense that it will be more of a challenge to destroy later on.

 

_Izaya likes to dig his fingers into flesh._

Flesh that's hard and rough and impossible to break, flesh that's burning like a thousand fires against his fingertips as they dance upon their prey in a silent curse. Flesh that's surprisingly sensitive as he pushes flush against it, grinding into the warmth that diminishes the more he plays this game, amber eyes losing their luster as they roll into the back of Shizuo's head in that pleasing way that makes Izaya's breath catch, if only for a moment.

Izaya likes to touch, but only so he can drag sharp nails across jutting collarbones or bite forcefully into pert nipples, harsh and rough just like the skin he's always trying to tear. Shizuo lets out pretty melodies even though his desire isn't to be jostled like he's some child's plaything, and Izaya burns the sound into his brain so he can remember that treating a monster the way he deserves results in equally as beastly reactions.

Shizuo unravels fast regardless, so Izaya knows there's no point in putting effort into even pretending to care when everything's so hollow anyway. This is just the way he likes to imagine what leaving an actual physical bruise would feel like as he wraps his hands around Shizuo's neck, provoking a rattle of breath in his throat that is unmistakeably one of satisfaction. There has never been any soft, meaningful touching and exploring, no playful or tender foreplay, just business and the ruthless way Izaya likes to suck him dry.

 

_Izaya likes Shizuo._

Izaya relishes when Shizuo trembles below him as he glides his hands up over his smooth thighs, curls his fingers around sturdy hips and parts his quivering legs. He loves the deep, dark red of flushing cheeks and endearing hesitant glances from under too full eyelashes, equally loves the way those looks are currently laced with disgust, humiliation, and shame. 

The moment when Izaya slides into him is one of his favorite parts, because Shizuo can't hide the shudders that wrack his thin frame, can't hide his face when Izaya reaches down to grip his chin and force eye contact for those first few heart wrenching moments when he stills inside him, like he's waiting for the full of his insidious disease to channel into Shizuo's body and infect every part of him. Shizuo doesn't know why all this time later he still takes that moment to stare in triumph at his defeated face, because the damage has already been done multiple times over and there's no place left that the insect's cancer hasn't spread to. Shizuo thinks at this point maybe it's just best to continue humoring him, so at least that way one of them is still feeling something.

Izaya's movements are mechanical and calculating, as if Shizuo is just another task on a job he's finishing up. His thrusts are steady - there is no fiery urgency, nor is it intimately too slow, just empty and devoid of feeling in a way that makes Shizuo's bones ache. He shivers, but it's not because of the way Izaya is drilling into him with apathy etched into his face, expressing how bored he is with every lazy tip and turn in and out, in and out - he's grown used to that. No, it's because of the monotony. The tedium of it all. Expose, break down, repeat. Like clockwork. Clockwork that only leaves him wanting more the less he gets.

 

_Izaya likes to poison._

Izaya passes this bitter pill each time Shizuo shows up like a lost puppy on his doorstep, guiding him in with false warmth and leading him straight to the bedroom. There are no greetings or words, just silent acknowledgment that someone is going to leave in pieces later, and it's already obvious which of them it will be. Despite this, Izaya may have one weak point - he never turns away strays.

He tilts his head and a grin cracks like the jagged edges of a shattering glass, and Shizuo's expression is only ever blank, but there's a melancholic tone to it that Izaya wishes he could devour in some sort of solid or liquid form. A drug perhaps, intravenously or by mouth, and Izaya gets his fix as Shizuo wearily pushes himself up the stairs, shoulders dragged down by an invisible, unspoken weight.

Izaya thinks Shizuo ought to be more enthusiastic sometimes – after all, misery loves company.

 

_Izaya likes to crush._

He likes to crack and shatter and shake Shizuo, leave him crumbling as he arches up and meets him in a steady rhythm, only to catch Izaya's cruel eye and vicious smirk and the illusion of passion is instantly shattered. It's enough to make that precious heart, which has been slowly shriveling more and more each day, skip an important beat, working less and less hard to keep the vital blood flowing through his veins. It's going to give out soon, Shizuo can only hope, but deep down he knows it won't happen before Izaya's had his fill of fun.

Shizuo's mortification is like a pleasing symphony to Izaya that is crashing into a crescendo of pants and moans that cannot be stifled, no matter how cruel and unloving he is being as he leers maniacally above him. The sad truth is that Shizuo doesn't mind being broken like this, as long as Izaya's attention is on him he still has that hope that maybe one day that callous shell in the form of sharp, pretty razor edges will crack. Izaya thinks Shizuo is as hopeless as he is romantic, because no matter how much Shizuo tries he is still deluding himself with these thoughts, thoughts he uses so that it will hurt less to know in the long run that all his efforts are – have been and will be - in vain. He's wasting his time in exchange for malicious encounters that provide no relief to an itch he thinks he can manage to scratch.

It's an inside joke Izaya has with himself that he often laughs at - horrible cackling that starts low and becomes ear-gratingly high pitched.

 

_Izaya likes to taunt._

He likes to laugh when Shizuo reaches up and tries to pull him close, lips zoning in towards some semblance of tenderness and comfort – searching for anything, any sign that there is a spark of decency left in Izaya's dull and glazed eyes to seek solace in. But Izaya only tips his head farther back as he thrusts forward roughly and yanks a tuft of golden locks, laughter echoing vile mockery that hurts Shizuo's head and heart and soul. Izaya loves watching Shizuo as his face scrunches up in that familiar expression of pain and pleasure, a lovely combination both physical and emotional.

There's a whine that sounds from this denial of such a simple intimate pleasure, somehow infinitely more vulnerable and passionate than the act of mind-numbing fucking, and this only motivates Izaya more as he leans down to whisper to Shizuo, places lips just close enough to be out of reach so he can say, “Is there something else you were hoping for, Shizu-chan?” Shizuo's face instantly crumbles into a grimace, worry lining his furrowed brow, and he turns his head and slams his eyes shut. Izaya knows this is the moment where he is only silently wishing for it all to end soon, intense regret showing in the way his keening against him has grown sluggish. Izaya guesses he's basically at that lovely breaking point of being too tired to even grow angry anymore, worn thin by wickedness masquerading in the shape of a charming man. It's enough to make Izaya actually pick up speed for once, knowing he has such an effect on something so inhuman, and Shizuo springs back to life like a zombie beneath him, groaning and grunting as he nears his climax.

Izaya never touches him there, and Shizuo knows better than to ask, so his hand flies down to stroke himself as he tries to erase the bitterness that's flying into every sense at the feeling of dread that comes with knowing Izaya will always follow him afterwords. And even though he's already been desecrated a thousand times over, the ending never is an easy one to overcome, because Shizuo just wants - all he's ever wanted - is that brief flash of warmth and love he feels at orgasm to stay forever. Then it's there - that awful feeling of frigid seed spilling into him which is enough to instantly tear him apart and bring him back to the horrifying reality that Izaya really is the true monster between them.

 

_Izaya likes to win._

No matter how much blood Shizuo loses every time, he still manages to exert that one last effort - throws an arm towards Izaya after he rolls off of him without so much as a glance back - desperate to catch the fly with honey by ensnaring it in a trap of devotion. This time is no different - Izaya scoffs at him like usual and jumps off the bed, pulling clothes on as if his life depends on it - always and forever denying that one last opportunity to make a true connection. With teeth that only bite and tear and hurt, he hisses at Shizuo to get dressed and get the fuck out of his apartment, and there's always some bullshit rationalization for why he can't stay, but Shizuo's been blocking that part out for quite some time anyway. 

Izaya likes watching Shizuo's back as he tugs on material like a lifeless doll whose batteries have run dry - likes seeing the muscles flex and pull taught across exhausted bones, and he flexes his hand with an impish grin on his face, putting two fingers together as if he's squashing Shizuo's head. The real end game here, though, is the way he's successfully squashed Shizuo's _heart_ , stomps on it every time he gets that urge to pry his chest open. Shizuo's exposed nerves, arteries, bones, muscles, veins, organs - all on a display for him like some ghastly vivisection he takes great pride in observing.

However, this still isn't the part he likes most - no, all other parts of the night only pale in comparison to what really thrills him and chills him to the bone, motivates him to continue this disturbing game.

Izaya's greatest pleasure has always been the look of utter betrayal, of hurt and frustration on Shizuo's face every time he leaves – because this is the signal that he will be back, will continue to return over and over again to win that victory, all too hopeful - the ultimate victory of prying open Izaya's own cold, black heart, trying in vain to defibrillate something he's aware in the back of his mind has been dead for years. 

Izaya loves this, loves this above all else - it's a best kept secret and he knows he's already won, the victory can never be topped - because what Shizuo doesn't know is that it never started beating in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> (╥﹏╥)
> 
> why tf did i write this


End file.
